


Draco Malfoy: Entrepreneur

by sksdwrld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, POV Male Character, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hogwarts, Draco owns and operates a wizard's strip club.  When Hermione Granger shows up on his payroll, he is pleasantly surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise, Surprise

Today began as any other. I awoke around two and laid lazily in a tangle of sheets until the painful throb of my bladder became to insistent to ignore. Already naked, I padded into the loo to relieve myself and then stepped into the shower. I like the water so hot that it scorches my skin a bright shade of red while I wank.

I handle myself roughly, and I’ll even admit that sometimes I hurt myself a little bit- too hard a tug there, or maybe my finger nails scratch up a small patch of flesh here, in my haste. They call it self-abuse for a reason. And anyway, I like it hard and fast. I don’t have the time to make love to myself all morning. 

My seed hits the hot water and curdles as it swirls down the drain. My unborn children. The ones I was supposed to be having with Astoria Greengrass. But she’s a greedy cunt and that’s a story for another time.

My soap is some ridiculously expensive shit that Pansy bought in some downtown boutique on a lark one afternoon. She subsequently decided she hated it, but having bought nearly a case of it, donated it to my charitable cause. As for me, well, I love the ginger infused suds that invigorate my skin and I haven’t used anything else for over a year.

I toweled off my hair, then strutted naked around my flat to air-dry. I leave the windows open, just incase anyone ever wants to have a look at what they’re missing. But I often forget I placed security and privacy charms around the entire perimeter, so no one will get to see my glorious body anyway. Standing in front of the armoire, there are rows and rows of black suits and white shirts, and an entire rack of black ties. Sometimes if I’m feeling especially chipper, I might take on a charcoal suit, or maybe a black cashmere sweater. But today it’s a suit. Always a suit for work.

The house-elf, Bindy, or Mindy, or Mousy, or whatever her name is, has a cup of tea and a biscut hot and ready for me, next to my folded morning paper. I drink the tea, and eat the top layer of the biscuit, leaving the rest. 

Closer to five, I floo over to the private club that I have owned and run, for the last five years, since I graduated from that miserable excuse for a Wizarding School, Hogwarts. Some of my least pleasant memories are from that place, and I shan’t talk of it any longer. Having the floo installed into my private office was a bitch and a half to negotiate, but I find that if you line someone’s pockets with enough galleons, you can have anything you want.

As far as the club, I’m proud to tell you that it was the first, and is currently the only wizards strip club anywhere. Of course there are thousands of muggle joints like these, and mine is loosely based on the premise of selling hands-off sexual experiences, just like the rest of them. I told my mother it was an upscale gentleman’s club, but she reads the papers and the gossip columns, I’m sure she knows exactly what kind of thing goes on here. Or maybe she doesn’t. She has always walked the fine line between ignorance and self-righteous knowing. Either way, to her credit, she hasn’t said a blessed word to me.

The girls I employ are all either muggle-born wizards (yes, I deigned myself to hire a group of mudbloods. But they’re quite sexy, and frankly, I consider them paid public servants. So it’s alright.), or wizard-born squibs. And let me tell you, what these ladies lack in magical skills, they more than make up for in feats of acrobatics and flexibility. I believe everyone has a place in this world (for most, it’s under my thumb), and these girl’s were born with pretty faces and tight bodies for a reason-to make me money.

I floo into my private office and decant myself a tumbler of firewhiskey to sip while I review yesterdays books. When I’ve finished, I pass through the hallway and rap on Pany’s door. She’s my business partner and general manager. If she’s in a good mood, she usually calls out “Hullo, Darling!” and if she’s feeling foul, “Sod off, you filthy codger!”. This always makes me laugh. Today, it’s “Hullo, Darling! New Girl today!”

I pause, backpedal, and stand in her doorway with my arms cast against the frame. “Dancer, or server?”

Pansy pauses to examine the paperwork, then pertly announces, “Server,”

I wave my hand dismissively. The servers are alright, but I can’t be bothered with any of them if they aren’t going to dance their way into my lap by the end of the night. “Good. Fine.” I respond, then continue on my way, swinging by the bar where I say, “Good evening,” to Luna Lovegood. She’s the bartender here most evenings, and she’s crazier than a two-headed goblin, but she dresses the part, makes a damned good drink, and amuses the patrons to no end.

“What’ll it be, boss?” She asks, like she does every night,

“Firewhiskey, on the rocks,” I tell her, as I do every night.

I take my drink and head to the dancer’s dressingroom to greet the girls, who cluster and fluster about me until I can’t stand their giggles and teasing touches any longer. Then I head back to my office and put my feet up on the desk. A knock comes at the door and I know it’s Sookie. Sookie-with-two-o’s. Sookie-with-two-holes. She comes in and fawns about me some more, and I tell her to piss off. She laughs at me and takes her shirt off.

There was a time when I found this defiance charming; when I was enthralled by her golden skin, long black hair, and flat chest with giant, dark nipples. She had an exotic, boyish look that made my cock hard. But she’s as brainless as she is beautiful, and her presence on my arm was nothing more than a trophy for me.

Sookie-with-two-o’s has been sucking my dick for the last fifteen minutes and I can’t take the wet slurping sounds accompanying her lack-luster performance any longer. I shove her off of me, but make her sit there while I finish the job myself. Just before I blow my load, I pull her face back into my crotch, missing her mouth, and leaving a sticky mess up her jawline and into her hair. Sookie gives me a dirty look and wipes at her face while I shrug. She’s always been very bendy, and I like that about her, but the girl has not mastered the art of sucking cock.

“I don’t do it for you any more?” She asks me angrily while I clean myself up. I don’t offer her a towel.

I shrug again non-committally. I know better than to shoot myself in the foot. I’m not sure why I’ve kept her around for so long, other than she’s easy, and presents herself to me. I’m not sure, either, why she’s stuck around for so long, other than the paycheck. Come to think of it, that’s probably the only reason why.

Sookie lets herself out, and I mill about the room long enough to give her time to get out of sight. I don’t care to run into her in the corridor again tonight. As I round the corner, and push through the doors into the main club, the thumping music hits me like a wave. It’s DJ Creevy spinning records tonight, and he gives me the thumbs up from the booth across the room. The floor tiles light up as I walk across them; it’s still early, and the club is empty enough that for a second, I feel a twinge of self-consciousness to have my footsteps lit in my wake. Of course, that thought it fleeting, and I move toward the tables to greet the frequent flyers.

“Viktor! Viktor, stop it!” 

I hear a shrill cry and half turn, waiting for Crabbe or Goyle to come to the rescue. They’re the bulky duo around here responsible for keeping the patrons in line. But mostly they soak up a paycheck and watch the girls dance. Neither of those two ignoramuses show, and I scowl. Viktor Krum is here several nights a week, and when he gets a few drinks in him, he’s a downright bastard, harassing my girls. 

“I said stop, Viktor!”

With a sigh, I turn, and all I can see is the hulk of his muscular back, and behind him, flailing, slapping, slender arms.

“Krum!” I roar over the music. He doesn’t stop, and this forces me to draw my wand from the inner pocket of my blazer. “Petrificus totalus!” I have no patience for shenanigans this evening.

His stiffened body topples to the floor, and Goy runs up breathlessly just in time. 

“Take him outside and do the counter-curse. Tell him he’s not welcome again until next month,” It’s bad business, banning your customers for life, but I can’t tolerate having my girl’s abused either. 

I glance down and the girl is no-one I recognize. For another fleeting moment, I am confused, and then I remember that Pansy said a new girl was starting tonight. Her clothing was mussed, and the tight black shorts she wore were halfway to her knees. She was sitting on the floor, where she’d fell along with Krum. I reached my hand down to her and pulled her to her feet.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” she said sheepishly, readjusting her clothes.

I frown. “That’s Mr. Malfoy, but you can call me Draco, sweetheart. Are you alright?”

The girl looks up and me and nods, and for the first time, I see her face, I mean really see it. And my jaw just about hits the floor. “Granger!?” I can honestly say, never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to see Hermione Granger sashaying her hiney in my club for tips. She always was a self-righteous, haughty little bitch. And I can’t figure out why Pansy would hire her. Ok. So maybe the years since Hogwarts had been kind to Granger. She had a smoking hot body, and a mass of voluminous hair pinned up in a way that made me want to shake it down and bury my face in it. No wonder Krum had been hassling her.

I realize that she is trying to hold her t-shirt together, because her breasts are just about hanging out. I take her by the upper arm and lead her away, saying loudly, “Let’s get you to the dressing room and see what else we can get for you,”

“Thanks,” She gives me a winning smile.

Once we are out of range of the thumping base, and she is picking through a bureau of tiny tops, I settle down on the dressing table beside her. “Pray tell, what brings you to my club, Granger?”

“Actually, it’s Weasley,” she says, then frowns. “No. Call me Granger. I ought to change that name anyway, now that we’re divorced.”

I am both amused and somewhat shocked to find that she married that Weasel in the first place, and then divorced him in less than five years. She strips off her shirt shamelessly and pulls another one on. I watch, and I am not embarrassed to be caught.

“No surprises there,” I smirk. “Please tell me that you didn’t realize that he was an imbecile all along,”

She shrugged. “It’s not that. He…just…after awhile, I realized he was quite a puritan. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life smothered like that.”

“Oh?” I was hoping she would elaborate because I hadn’t the faintest idea of what she meant by that.

“No. Shall we?” She indicated the door, and I smiled, then leaned off the table to open it for her.

That was the extent of our conversation that evening. That night, I went home alone, for the first time in a long time. And for the third time that day, I stroked my own prick into a blissful release.

 

A week into Granger’s new job, I had already gotten several requests from the customers to make her a dancer.

“Granger!” I call to her. She winces. Her name tag reads “Ne-Ne,” as if she is ashamed for anyone to find out who she really is. “We’ve got to talk,” I pull her aside and tell her I’m impressed with her progress. That I think she carries herself really well. And what would she think if I offered her a promotion to dancing, a few nights a week?

She looks dubious and tells me that she’s flattered, but has no sense of rhythm.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” I flash my most winning smile at her, and can’t help but let my eyes flicker over her a few times. Smoking hot. “How about a personal demonstration, in my office?” I expect her to decline, but she surprises me and agrees.

I pull out my chair and plant my body into it, then look up at her expectantly. “Did you want some music?” I fumble for my wand and give it a flick. Before she can respond, my office turns into a miniature version of the club, complete with strobe lights and music. She laughs and stands there a moment, then begins to move her body. I’ll give her one thing, she was right about lacking rhythm. And her transitions from move to move were somewhat lacking, but with time and training, I’m sure she’d be as good as the rest of them. Granger curls herself around my body several times, then drops into my lap. She grinds her hips against mine, and I can feel the moist heat from between her legs. My cock is hard like it hasn’t been in months. Working in the sex industry has a way of making you immune sometimes. But I’m not immune now.

Granger dips in, her breath hot on my neck, hair tickling my face, and it’s all I can do to not throw her on my desk and ram myself into her. I am gripping the seat of the chair tightly. I lick my lips, and then suddenly, she is licking my lips, her tongue darting against mine. My cock is throbbing in my pants, against her warm folds, which are damp through the fabric. She pulls away with my lip between her teeth, releases me, and smiles.

“Granger,” I struggle to find words. “You…you can’t kiss the customers,”

“Are you paying?” Her smile is wicked.

“Did you want me to?” I think at this point, I’d toss a few galleons her way to make her do what she did again.

“I want you to fuck me,” she breathes. 

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “What?”

“You heard me,” she grates her hips against me, then peels one of my hands off the chair, placing it on her breast. My fingers squeeze involuntarily, and I languish in having a handful of ripe tit for the first time in months.

The next thing I know, I’m on my feet, and her legs are wrapped around my waist. I push everything off my desk with a dramatic sweep and lay her down on the mahogany top. I peel her shorts away, and she practically tears her shirt trying to get it over her head. I gasp at what I see.

She is bra-less, and wears only a lace thong, which is stretched so tight that it has nestled between the lips of her labia. I finger the outline of the thong, dipping my finger into her well just long enough to hook the fabric, which I pull back with my finger and let snap back against her wet folds. Granger groans and pumps her hips against my hand.

That’s it. I devoid myself of pants and am climbing on top of her. She is still trying to unbutton my shirt and I grab her wrists and pin them to the desk on either side of her head. “Don’t move,” I growl at her, roughly kissing her before pulling back. She is sprawled helpless on my desk and watches me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. I practically tear my shirt off and fall between her slender thighs. My cock finds its way to her moist slit and probes in before I can even give her a chance to recant her offer.

I hear her groan, and she arches her back, tilting her hips upward. I have never felt anything so hot, and wet, and tight in my life. “Oh, fuck, Granger,” I whisper, rocking my hips against her. I take a few minutes to build up, and then I’m really slamming into her. It’s at this point that most girls tell me to slow down, or ‘not so hard’, but Granger just keeps taking it. She’s panting and snapping her hips to meet me, and I can feel the tightness spreading up my thighs to my belly. I am going to come. My fingers close around one of her nipples and pinches hard enough to draw a gasp from her. I feel her body tighten, and I plunge into her depths repeatedly.

She’s screaming, “Yes, yes, yes!” when I spend myself into her. A moment too late, her walls come clamping down on my prick, and I wince and fight the urge to yank out of her as the sensation becomes almost too much to bear. But then it’s over and we’re both bare-assed and panting like teenagers on my office desk. 

I slip away from her and reach for a towel that I keep in a warmer in one of the drawers in my desk. I offer her one, and wipe myself off. “Maybe you’re right, Granger,” I hear myself say. “Maybe I don’t want you up there dancing for everyone else. Maybe I just want you dancing for me,”.


	2. A Hard Day's Night

“You’re lucky the Ministry hasn’t put any sexual harassment laws into place, Draco,” Pansy looks at me and I can tell she can’t decide whether to look stern or amused. “If you were a muggle, you’d have been in jail a hundred times over by now,”

“What are you talking about?” I say flippantly. I know exactly what she is talking about.

I own and run a wizard strip club, called simply “The Club”. I have recently allowed myself to accept the fact that I may be “over-sexed”, as Pansy calls it. Up until now, I thought I was just a normal, pureblooded wizard. Maybe I still am. Maybe our bodies crave sex in an animalistic, lustful way that watered down blood has failed to retain. In any case, I am not ashamed of this so called condition, and often use my place of employment (and some would argue my position of power) to procure sexual favors.

I do not, let me repeat, do not proposition the ladies that work for me if they haven’t thrown themselves at me at least once. I simply cannot help it if nearly every girl that works for me has climbed on top of my cock at one time or another. I am, however, more than happy to oblige them when they present themselves to me.

I make it clear that I am not interested in any sort of relationship, other than that of a carnal nature. I do not pursue anyone who shows disinterest. And why should I? There are more than enough people here who worship me, or at least have allowed themselves to believe that sleeping with me will give them some kind of advantage in life, that I have had to schedule sex in shifts. 

 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Pansy eyes me and I can tell she’s decided on stern.

I am turning my tumbler in slow circles, listening to the ice clink as it settles into the glass, now devoid of firewhiskey. “Enlighten me,”

“Granger, you dolt. Don’t think for one second I haven’t seen that feral look in your eyes of late. And since when did you decide fucking mudbloods was on your agenda?”

“Don’t be crass, Pans. Fucking mudbloods has always been on my agenda, and you know it. If you’ve got something personal with Granger, maybe you shouldn’t have hired her. Hell, if I were you, I would have put money on when I’d get into her pants,”

At this, Pansy’s mouth curls up in one corner. “I did. You owe me a galleon. I said it would take you at least a month, Granger is so uptight. Lovegood won the pool though.”

“Then she can buy the next round,” I catch Luna’s eye and sling my empty glass toward her. She refills it for me and settles it back in front of me with a wink. 

 

Pansy and I, and a few of the other girls are sitting at the bar after the club has closed, and it’s probably around four in the morning. I’ve been watching Granger lean over the tables to wipe them clean before stacking the chairs on them. Her breasts press flat against the top and bubble out of her shirt each time. She caught my eye several times, and smiled, innocently enough. But after I shagged her silly in my office last week, something has come over me. I think about taking her pert breasts in my mouth and sucking them until she creams her panties on my lap. She bends away from me and I can see the swell of her lips between her legs, outlined by the tight fabric of the short-shorts she always wears. Maybe too, I’ll take her from behind, in front of the big mirror on stage, so I can watch her tits bounce while we shag.

“Draco,” Pansy says in such a way that I suddenly realize she has said it several times. Just as I look up, she has leaned over and placed one hand on my thigh, dangerously close to my rock hard cock.

“Watch it,” I warn with a grin. “You keep touching me like that and I’ll have you in my office next,”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Been there, done that. Sorry sweetheart, but your kind don’t do it for me, no matter how glorious you think your cock is.”

Pansy loves pussy just as much as I do. It’s the reason our friendship, and business arrangement work so well.

 

Starla Winters is half curled around me from behind. Her hand keeps teasing my dick through the fabric of my pants, and there’s a wet spot on the front of my trousers where my excitement is leaking through. I’m about to give up waiting for Granger to leave, and take Starla home with me for the evening when she strolls past. I slink off the chair toward her, ignoring Starla’s huff of disappointment. 

“Granger,” I say, and am obvious about giving her the once-over when she turns to me. Most girls trade their heels for a pair of slippers as soon as they’re off shift, but Granger has put on an impossibly high pair of stiletto thigh high boots. They accompany wide-knit fishnet stockings and a skirt so short that if she weren’t shaved bare, I’m sure a tendril of fuzz would be peeking out. “Where are you going, all tarted up?”

She grins at me. “There’s a muggle club that’s open until six. Care to join me?”

My sheer revulsion at the thought of slumming it with drunken muggles is countered by my desire to fuck Granger silly. It is taking all of my self-restraint to not hump my body against her like a clumsy teenager.

“I think I will, actually,” I put my hand on the small of her back and find myself smiling. I wonder if I look as idiotic as I suddenly feel. “Let me get my coat.”

“Don’t,” She clutches my arm before I can move completely away and pulls me closer. “In fact, you should lose the tie too,” Granger’s fingers are at my throat, pulling the knot out of the silk tie and slipping it from my collar before I can protest. I find myself stuffing it in my pocket while she undoes the top few buttons of my shirt, and stands on tip-toe to muss my hair.

I catch Pansy’s eye before I let Granger lead me away. Her mouth is open, and when she catches me looking at her, she scowls. Some of the other girls look amused, but Starla is angry. Too bad for Starla.

Granger apparates us to the alleyway behind the club. For the first time in my life, I’m wishing we took a muggle taxi, so I might have worked my finger inside of her on the way. She takes my hand and I’m wishing she was shoving me against the dirty bricks, sliding down on her knees, sucking my cock from my pants. It twitches to remind me it’s still ready and waiting action. I will myself to be patient, but it has been a long time since I deprived myself, and I do not enjoy the painful feeling of dancing while sporting an erection. 

We are on the dance floor, and little-miss-no-rhythm is grinding her ass against my pelvis to the 120 beat-a-minute house music. The friction is glorious and I hate her for it. I am just about to admonish her for being the biggest cock-tease I’ve ever met, when her hand slips between us and she gives me a ferocious squeeze. I grab her by the wrist and spin her around to face me. I know I’m baring my teeth at her like some sort of animal, because my jaw has been clenched shut for so long, my face aches.

She smiles and shouts something, eyes my package, and then says something else. But it’s all lost over the roar of the music. I shake my head and point to my ears, then shrug. With her free hand, she palms my dick, then pushes me backward. I let her lead me off the floor and into some booth in the corner. 

When she pulls her wand from her boot and waves a privacy spell around us, I suddenly realize that I left my own wand back at the club, in my jacket pocket. I have hardly any time to think on this however, because Granger has crawled into my lap. Her skirt is bunched up on her hips, and the lips of her pussy are bared to me. She is not wearing any underwear, and her fishnets have no crotch. 

Granger grinds against my lap and I hiss at her and push her bare ass onto the tabletop. “Don’t.” I have to warn her or I’ll have a mess on my hands and no one will be happy. Instead, I slip my finger between her folds, wetting them with her juices, then slide up, up, up until I find the pulsing, hard nodule at the crest. She leans back on her elbows and moans while I slide my finger around and around.

I am wishing she would take down her top and let me see her tits, and then as if she can read my mind, she slips one breast from her top. My hand falls still while I watch her roll a nipple between her own fingers. She stops too then, eyes my, and jiggles her hips. Don’t stop. Alright honey, I got this.

I push her knees wider apart and lean forward until my nose rests on top of her public bone. She is musky and sweet under my tongue. Her skin is velvet, and I am licking, sucking at her heat, with two fingers buried inside of her. I feel her orgasm clench at my fingers, and I pound them into her until she is finished. She is barely done and I am already jerking her down off the table. 

“Your turn,” I say. I know she can’t hear me, because I can’t hear myself. But she gets the point, and is slipping beneath the table to open the fly of my pants. Her mouth is as hot and as smooth as the inside of her pussy. She takes me in to the hilt and I am fighting, fighting, fighting not to erupt in the first minute. But Granger drives a hard bargain. She draws the skin of my ball sack up and twists ferociously hard. My bollocks are driven together, and combined with the swirling of her tongue, I can’t contain myself any longer. I tangle my hands in her hair and arch into her mouth, rocking as I deliver my semen straight down her gulping throat. Fuck. It was too quick. It was all too quick, and I want more.

When she surfaces, I find her lipstick is mostly gone, and I know it is staining my skin. I yell in her ear. Come home with me. She shakes her head. She wants to dance until the club closes. When it does, I take her home. We fumble in the doorway of her flat and snog while the sun comes up. When she finally opens the door, she slips inside alone and leaves me standing on the doorstep. I see her wicked grin through the crack just before the door shuts and latches.

When I get home, I wank myself raw and make a mess of my sheets. I have to call the house-elf to replace them, because my wand is still at the mother-loving club, in my jacket. I contemplate going to get it, then reconsider and fall into bed, hoping to sleep. But instead I just stare at the ceiling. Finally, I take my cock in hand again. It’s going to be a long day.


	3. Whore of Babylon

Bernie Bott does not have ‘hot snatch’ flavored beans. I contemplate this as I lay abed, listening to the insistent rapping on my window by Pansy’s owl. I manage to ignore it until my own owl, Craven, begins hooting maniacally. Alright, you fuckers, I’m up.

“Where are you?” Pansy’s question is simple, understated, and at once demanding and disapproving. It is more than half-past eight, and I should have been at the club hours ago. I am never late. The thought crosses my mind to floo in immediately, and then I examine my disheveled state in the mirror, and find flakes of dried jism in the creases of my palms. I cannot be seen like this.

Pansy’s owl takes off with a hastily scribbled note announcing I will be there at ten. Don’t want to cause a panic. I climb into the shower, and when the hot steam hits my hands and face, I catch a whiff of Granger’s musk.

My poor, battered cock is achingly hard again in seconds. I hesitate to wank yet again, given the violent pace my hand falls to out of habit. I have already chafed a spot of skin near the head nearly raw in the course of the day alone. My cock has not been in such a sorry state since fourth year at Hogwarts. Deciding to forego my daily ritual of self-abuse, I find the remainder of my shower is surprisingly short. 

I towel completely off and reach for my wand, then recall that I left it at the club in my haste to follow Granger out the door like a bitch in heat. Scowling, I am forced to rummage through my medicinal cabinet, and find I am dangerously low on potions and salves. I can’t remember the last time I whipped up a batch of…well, anything really. I find a simple salve and grease my prick with it, fighting the urge to pump my fist repeatedly down the length of my shaft.

I have one leg into my crumpled trousers from yesterday when I notice a crusted white film on the left thigh of the fabric. I shrug out of them and smell the patch. I am quite aware of how vile this appears. But it’s Granger’s lust for me, right there. Fuck. Alright. Get going Draco. If I don’t stop this fantasizing, I’ll be tossing off all over again, and even later to work.

 

Pansy glares at me from across her desk, twirling my wand in her palm, flexing it between her hands. I am sitting there like a chastised school boy and will not deign myself to ask for it back. “Granger got your knickers in a twist?”

“Oh sod off, Pans.” I scowl at her. “When was the last time you got laid? Been awhile, I’m certain, because you’ve been a real twat lately,”

I duck when she throws my own wand at me, and then listen for the first three and a half minutes while she screams at how irresponsible I’m being, and how I’m letting my cock make my decisions, and so on. Finally, I stand, Accio my wand, and walk out the door, turning at the last minute to remind her, incase she forgot, that she works for me.

I am in a right foul mood as I go over the books hastily. In the meanwhile, I manage to drink two tumblers of whiskey, and have two more at the bar while I schmooze with former minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

Pansy sneers at me on her way past, as I am scanning for Granger. She knows me too well. “It’s her night off,” she spits venomously. 

I feel my face twist into a bitter scowl, before I can stop myself. Hopefully my disdain is interpreted as being towards Pansy, not at the fact that Granger isn’t around to receive my attentions. Fuck.

Suck-me Sookie is fast on the prowl, and seeks me out shortly. She may or may not have been tipped off by Pansy. Desperate for a lay as I may be, I am no longer interested in Sookie. She’s become far more clingy than I usually allow girls to become before I push them away. I tell her to fuck off, and this time I mean it. 

By two, I’m off my face at the bar, and rolling with laughter as I listen to the older fellows sing their fraternity and house songs. They’re all arseholed too, because I’ve bought the last several rounds.

I wake up in my office, between Starla, and one of the other girls, Darcy. Someone has managed to transfigure my desk into a bed big enough for the three of us. I can barely remember the drunken romp. Pansy has left a hang-over potion tied to the doorknob. This means she still loves me.

My threesome at work was the beginning of a week-long bender of booze and women (none of which were Hermione Granger), that somehow culminated with me waking up in my childhood bedroom at the manor, beneath a brightly green bedspread. I was feeling brightly green around the gills, but nevertheless soon found myself sitting across the dining room table from my parents, who were not amused by my most recent antics. There were pictures, my mother said, in the gossip column which did not favorably depict the Malfoy family. Discretion, my father advised, works best behind closed doors. 

One of the muggle-born girls at work said I was the Paris Hilton of the Wizard community. I have no idea what this means, but the way she laughed afterward made me feel like it wasn’t something to be proud of. 

 

I am muttering to myself in by the bar when Pansy passes me. Suddenly, she whirls and stops, staring at me. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

“Veela.” I say. “Granger has to have some Veela in her. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “If that were true, she’d have had the whole of Hogwarts after her while she was there. I don’t know how you can get past that bushy mane and know-it-all-trap of hers, honestly.”

“Frankly, we haven’t spent much time talking,” 

I am still musing this most recent Veela development when a warm body slides onto the barstool next to mine. The place hasn’t officially opened yet, so I know it has to be one of the girls. God help me if it’s Sookie. I need to get rid of that bitch already.

“Hey there, Boss,” The voice is low and sultry and my cock springs into action before my eyes even register that it’s Granger. She angles toward me and makes a show of crossing her legs. One of her calves brushes my knee. My heart is thumping in my chest and I’m feeling oddly giddy, like the first time I kissed Astoria.

“Fuck, Granger,” I say. “Every time I see you, I want to shag the daylights out of you,” I find that honesty, when combined with frank rudeness, can be quite charming to many girls. And she looks pleased.

Her hand, when she touches my forearm, where I’ve rolled my sleeves up, leaves a warm tingle in its wake. She gestures with the other hand to Luna, who brings her water, with two lime wedges in it. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore,” she pouts, sucking hard on the cocktail straw. I actually wince, as I imagine her sucking on my cock with equal strength. Granger is being coy, and we both know this.

“Let me show you how much I don’t like you,” I say, drawing her hand into my lap. Her fingers caress my rock hard length through my trousers, and I have to grit my teeth to stifle a rising groan.

She smiles, flips her hair over one shoulder, and slides off the stool. “I should get to work,”

Cock-teases enrage me. I grab her wrist tightly and pull her body against me. “Shite,” I breathe. “Don’t be a fucking bint. I’ll bend you over the counter and take you in front of everyone,”

“I’ll hex your prick straight into your own arsehole,” She threatens me. I can tell I’ve crossed a line with her. “Now let me go,”

I have to force myself to release her, and not make good on my threat. She rubs her wrist and glares at me, but slowly the look fades into a dark smile. Granger struts away while I watch, my jaw practically on my chest. Then she turns and says just loud enough for me to hear, “I’d rather be up against the wall, anyway,”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Before I can stop myself, I’ve closed the distance between us. I take her by the wrist again, and walk away, towing her along behind me. I catch a glimpse of my face, and if I weren’t on a mission, I’d be a bit put off by the feral, disturbed look that was lingering there. My pace is brisk, but Granger manages to keep up, even in the whore-ish shoes she’s wearing. We barely make it into my office and I push her hard against the wall. 

“Slag,” My hands are on her glorious, firm body. “You bloody scrubber,” I squeeze her breasts hard enough to make her gasp. “Bint. Trollop. Whore.” Granger’s mouth sucks at my own with equal fervor. Our tongues battle for dominance as we tear at one another’s clothing. She gets my belt off and pants down, and is already clambering to rut against me. 

I push her back against the wall again, and pin her hands over her head, fixing a stern look at her. Then I let my body slide down hers, pausing to suck each nipple to a hard point. I am on my knees in front of her, tearing down her shorts and panties in a tangled bunch, then I bury my face between her legs, pulling one slender thigh over my shoulder. Yes. This is what I have been craving. All those other girls, and not one of them could hold a candle to Granger’s passion. She is already wet, and grinds her pussy against my face. I slam her hips backward and hold them there, then lick a slow strip up her crevice, gathering her taste on my tongue. I have barely reached her clit, and given it a teasing nip, when she snaps her hips out of my grasp and back against me.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” She groans and I can hear the scratch of her fingernails against the wall.

I have only just slipped two fingers inside of her, and she begins to buck wildly, tangles a hand in my hair, and yanks hard.

“No, stop. Fuck me, I want you inside of me now!” Granger tugs my hair again, and then my shoulders, then draws my free hand, previously on her hip, up to one tit. I rise and withdraw my fingers from her hot well, trailing a wet line up her torso where I finger her other nipple, then lower my mouth to the same hard bud, where I can taste her juice. I trade back and forth between her nipples, plucking and twisting whichever one my lips and teeth are not working.

“Fuck!” Granger gasps. I never realized she had such a filthy mouth. “Fuck. Malfoy. Draco. Fuck!”

My own cock is aching, and I have smeared my own wet readiness all over her thighs. She has hooked one leg over my hip and is rolling her pelvis, trying to impale herself on me.

“Christ, Granger!” I would be amused if I weren’t so desperate to be inside of her myself. With two hands, I lift her, pulling her other leg around me as our bodies collide together. She barely has to guide me in, and then I am slamming her with everything I’ve got.

Her fingernails rake up my back. “Yes, yes, yes!” Her head falls against the wall as she pants, baring her neck to me. I latch on to a particularly tender looking spot and suck a wide purple mark while we fuck. Her fingernails dig into my arms when she comes, and she veritably screams while her walls clamp around me. I keep going, pounding her straight through her orgasm. 

And then I find myself stumbling back with her, perching on the edge of my desk. Later I will realize that there is a sweaty ass print on my ledger, but for now, I just let her ride me. With her hands on my shoulders, she hammers onto me, with a pace that nearly matches my own. The wet, slapping sound of our flesh is rhythmic. I start out kneading her breasts with my hands, but eventually fall back on my elbows and just watch them bounce. Then my eyes shut, and I am groaning, moaning, swearing while she screws me. My body snaps up against hers and I hold her tight and still so I can fill her with my hot seed. 

“Yes, fuck yes,” I moan between her breasts, where I’ve managed to leave another round hickey. 

Granger pants above me, still rocking her hips slightly, and I force my hand between us, pressing my thumb against her throbbing clit. My hand shakes slightly as I diddle her, but it doesn’t take long before she comes again, and then we both collapse back on my desk.

We lay there until my cock softens and slips out of it’s own accord, and I can feel my own come pooling out of Granger and back onto my nest of well manicured pubic hair.

“Jesus, Malfoy, nobody fucks like you do,” Granger says this with a smile, hiking one leg up on my desk and giving me a wide view of her still-swollen cunt.

“The feeling is mutual, Granger,” I smirk and toss her a warm towel. “How do you feel about being my personal secretary? I could get you a desk right over there,” I gesture to the spot on the wall where we first began our tryst.

She smiles back as she mops up the mess I’ve made of her nether regions. “I think I like the idea better than dancing for tips,”

“I’ve got a tip for you,” I offer lewdly, jerking the towel out of her hand and advancing toward her again.

 

Pansy is going to be furious with me.


	4. One Thing

I am sitting in the club with my personal secretary draped over my lap. We watch the girls dance together, and sometimes I even pay for a lap dance just for her. Then I take her back to our office and we fuck. Like bunnies trying to repopulate the earth. As my personal secretary, Hermione Granger has upgraded her clothing choices from spandex short-shorts and skimpy t-shirts to skin-tight skirts, and bustiers so snug they could be painted on. Her tits are barely restrained in these types of tops, pushed up together and presented, as if on a platter, straight to my face, every time she bends over to put something on my desk. And the shoes…Merlin, don’t get me started on the shoes.

The relationship we’ve cultivated is mutually beneficial. It exists entirely for the purpose of fulfilling our own carnal needs, which, coincidentally, delightfully, and brilliantly revolve around rough, hard, fast sex, as often as the two of us can get it, anywhere we can get it. Ninety percent of the time, this is at the club. We both work here, and it is convenient. Since I own the place, no one runs the risk of getting caught. And this can be a problem, because the thrill of being seen really gets Granger going these days. So I take her to the park. And muggle bars. And all sorts of other places.

We have ended up at my place several times. Once, I called in for the both of us for nearly a week and we had marathon sex until neither of us were capable of moving so much as a finger. Pansy is not impressed; she’s been bitter toward me for months. I think she secretly fancies Granger, and I would not be hard-pressed to share, except that Pansy is a dear friend, and I’d hate to see things get complicated between us. Yes, she’s been a royal bitch for weeks, but believe me, this is not complicated.

I am sitting with Granger curled in my lap, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Darcy is on stage and she is sliding herself around the pole, shimmying her hips and tossing her long blond hair.

“Well, fuck me sideways! Hermione?!” The bumbling lilt can only come from one Weasel, who I gave specific orders to Vincent and Greg to keep as far away from my club as possible. I feel Granger stiffen on my lap, and her head snaps up. I look to her first, and she is glowering darkly. Then I turn my face to Weasley, who is standing there as slack-jawed and red faced as I imagined he’d be. “Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! Malfoy? You’re fucking Malfoy?” 

This really makes the bloke come apart at the seams.

I am torn between smug satisfaction at besting the Weasel out of something good, again, or intense irritation that he is here in the first place.

“Look, mate,” I say, trying to be congenial, when all I’d really like is to punch his freckled nose. “There’s a show going on here, so why don’t you sit down, put your feet up, I’ll get you a drink, lap dance from one of the girls. On me?”

“I want to talk to Hermione,”

I feel myself scowl and my arm tightens possessively around her waist. They were married once, you know, supposedly divorced, but she’s never spent a single moment trash-talking him. I’m a bit leery to let her alone in a room with him.

“Go away, Ronald, I have nothing else to say to you,” Granger sounds sure of herself, and I feel her fingers in my hair.

“Malfoy?” Weasel says this in disbelief again. “After all the things he said to you, and did to you in school? He’s only with you for one thing, he runs a sex club for Merlin’s sake!”

Granger’s chin juts forward. “Did it ever occur to you, you brainless git, that maybe I’m only with him for one thing? And if you were half as good at is as he is, I might have stayed with you longer. I have needs, you know, needs that aren’t fulfilled by laying motionless under your clumsy body until you finish and roll over to sleep!”

It is my turn to blush. Picturing the two of them in the act is not pleasant at all. I unsettle Granger from my lap, and stand to face Weasley. I am several inches taller than him, but he’s beefier than I. Still, I’m sure I can best him if I have to.

“Weasley,” I say. “You’re getting more attention than the ladies dancing. It looks like Granger doesn’t have anything to say to you, so why don’t you move along, so I don’t have to have you removed?”

 

 

The sex after the Weasel has left is delicious. Granger is out for revenge, and leaves crescent-shaped bite marks on my chest and thighs. She rides me furiously and there is an anger glittering in her eyes that I haven’t seen, at least not since her ridiculous S.P.E.W. rallies at Hogwarts. Suddenly, she rolls off of me and onto all fours, where she pushes her rump out. I look at her, for a moment too long and she snaps at me, “Move your arse, Draco. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

I scramble to oblige, feeling a clumsy sod myself at her sudden authoritarian status.

“And pull my hair,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

I am giving it to her good, or so I think, my fingers tangled in a handful of curls, when she rams her hips backward against me, hard. “For Christ’s sake, are you fucking, or taking a stroll in the garden?”

Her accusation unsettles me to the extreme, and I fumble off my rhythm, only to listen to her scowl again.

“Granger, if I go at this any harder, I’m going to hurt you,” I say this between panting breathes as a rivulet of sweat rolls down my neck and chest. I’ve never been concerned with hurting anyone before.

She turns her head and fixes me with a murderous look. “I want it to hurt. Make it bleed, for all I care,”

“Bloody mad,” I tell her, even as I latch on to her hips for support and really thrust into her. At this rate, I bruise my hips, and end up coming before she does. She waves me away and finishes the job herself while I catch my breath.

Braced on one arm, she buries a hand between her legs and moves her hips ferociously. Her head is down, hair hiding her face, and I can only watch in amazement. Who is this person Granger has become?

 

 

Granger and I become an exclusive couple. It’s not that there’s anything tangible between us, only that the sex is so good, and so easy, that it doesn’t make sense to seek it out anywhere else. She moved into my guest bedroom months ago, and though we have an open-ended arrangement, she hasn’t taken on any other lovers, that I’ve seen. We fuck, and then both take to our respective beds to sleep. Neither of us can stand the feeling of another person curled around us while we’re trying to catch some shut-eye.

I am sitting at the table, reading the morning paper. I am naked, and she is wearing my black silk robe, opened to the waist. It looks better on her than it does me. I fold down a corner of the paper and reach for my tea, sipping it before I casually mention: “Mother has been buggering me for weeks about going for a Sunday dinner. So I suppose I’ll have to oblige her and go this week, before she has a stroke. Care to join me?”

Granger snorts, and when I look up, she is brushing droplets of her own tea off her chest. “Did you just ask me to dinner at your mums?”

I smile uneasily. “I suppose I did. What of it?”

“Going to tell me you love me next?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you anything you want to hear if it will get me in your pants,” I grin at her and settle my paper down on the table top.

“I’m not wearing any pants,” Granger says with a mock frown as she stands and pulls the robe open to give me a display.

“More’s the pity,” I reply sardonically, scraping the chair back from the table and slinking down on the seat. I hold my arms open to her and she crosses, climbing on top of me. As she sheaths her hot cunt on my cock, I tighten my arms around her back. “So was that a yes to Mother’s?”

 

The End.


End file.
